Have You Seen My Watson?
by mcquidditch235
Summary: Sherlock comes back from the fall only to find out his blogger has gone missing while he was away... (An RP written in collaboration with Accident on Tumblr)


Mycroft watches his brother get ready to leave the briefing after finally finishing the mountains of paperwork. "Sherlock.. You've been gone for a very long time. There are things.. Things that you don't know about that happened while you were away. People change. They move on. Your little doctor friend. He.. He's not at 221B anymore. In fact I don't know where he is." He hums softly, looking at Sherlock of the rim of his tea cup.

John A flash of fear crosses over Sherlock's face before he smooths it back to one of, maybe not calm, but considerable concern. "What do you mean you don't know where he is, Mycroft? You know where everyone is, constantly, and it's not like he could just vanished into thin air!" Sherlock's voice rises as his expression turns to one of anger.

"That's exactly what he did. About three months after your fake funeral he disappeared. No one knows where he is. I've questioned everyone extensively and they have no idea. He didn't tell anyone he was going anywhere. He just vanished one night. I don't know how." Mycroft sighs, obviously annoyed how one little army doctor could evade his vast expanse of eyes and ears. "We never found a body so we assume he's still alive somewhere. As far as we can tell he's no longer in this country. We've searched top to bottom." He sets his tea cup down.

"So John Watson has been missing for a year and a half and you never told me?!" Sherlock huffed in indignation, as well as some of his fear as it snuck into his tone. "I went away to keep him safe, Mycroft! I will not return without him!"

"I couldn't have told you. It would have compromised the entire mission. You needed to be sharpe to stay alive." Mycroft frowns. "I've looked since the moment he went missing. He left everything at Baker Street. He didn't take a thing except the clothes on his back and his gun. All I can figure is that he doesn't want to be found."

Sherlock frowned as well. "Well then he's an idiot. I couldn't care less what he wanted or what you think he wanted, but I'm going to find him. It's just a matter of where to start." Sherlock's eyebrows scrunched together in deep thought as he settled back into his chair.

Mycroft hums and lays out the file of all the data he'd gathered so far. "I've made a list of some old army contacts John had. Apparently some of John's work in the army was classified. He was working secret missions with an elite group of soldiers."

Sherlock nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement but otherwise didn't move. "So, you believe he might have found a way to get in contact with one of his old teammates? Who is nearest to Baker Street? Any residing in London proper? He can't have gone too far off without some supplies so he likely would have taken a cab or bus to his friends' home and moved on from there."

"Yes that's what I came to as well but there's no footage of him leaving Baker Street. He goes in." Mycroft shows Sherlock the photo of the CCTV footage. "And he never walks out. So some how he vanished from Baker Street without leaving it." He hums, honestly impressed but irritated nonetheless.

Sherlock smirked just slightly, inclining his head and giving a little chuckle. "You see, dear Brother, there is something you haven't quite considered I believe. If you exit through the kitchen window there is a series of holes in the brick, amongst other various handholds, that make it relatively easy to escape the flat unseen by CCTV or any neighbors or people from the street. We had to use it once or twice to escape the assorted criminals that occasionally broke in with intent to harm us. He escaped that way."

Mycroft raises a brow. "Very well then. I suppose you'll be off to look to for him."

"Yes, I suppose I will be. Will you assist me? You know I will need access to certain resources that without your assistance I won't be able to ascertain." Sherlock's eyes turned glassy for a moment and he averted them.

"Of course." Mycroft nods. "Whatever you need. I.. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I failed you."

The car Mycroft had sent him in to the Lieutenant's house was blissfully comfortable after the neverending series of increasingly rank safe houses and hostels Sherlock had inhabited for the past two years and he was loathe to exit the car and face the bitter November chill. Still, he strode swiftly up to the door of 19 Pellatt Road and knocked.

An older man opens the door. "Well I'll be damned." He frowns as he sees Sherlock. "Come in." He steps away from the door, leading Sherlock inside.

Sherlock follows, grateful to be engulfed in the pleasant warmth of the room despite having only been out in the cold for a few moments. Serbia had weakened him more than he'd realized. He followed the man through the entry way to a small, comfortably decorated, homely sitting room. He took a seat on the small sofa when the man bade him and watched as he set the kettle on before turning back to Sherlock with an expectant air about him. "I'm looking for John Watson, and I believe this to be the first place he went upon leaving Baker Street. Do you know where he's gone?" Sherlock asked nervously, chewing his lip slightly under the man's hardened gaze.

"He was here." The lieutenant nods. "I don't know his final destination but I know where I sent him next." He hims and go to pour the tea as the kettle whistles.

"Where?" Sherlock blurts out. He hadn't quite meant to be so blunt considering this man was his best lead to find John, but he was honestly quite worried that John was in trouble to have disappeared so thoroughly. "My apologies. Where did he go? What is he doing?" Sherlock asked, far nore calmly.

The lieutenant chuckles and hands him tea. "Don't worry. He said you were like that. He never believed you died. He told me he was following a lead. I gave him gear and a fake identity. From here he took a ship to Wales." He sips his tea. "To meet another friend of ours."

Sherlock takes the tea and holds it on his knee but doesn't drink. "Have you heard from him? Is he okay? Was he okay? Is he trying to find me?" Sherlock rambled and couldn't find it in him to stop as the anxiety began to overwhelm him. "I'm just so worried and so sorry and I didn't want to leave him but I had no choice and now I'm afraid he's hurt or dying or in trouble somewhere and I won't be able to find him in time." Sherlock had begun to hyperventalate, despite the release the admission brought him, a weight lifted, but a weight that also took his breath away. He set his cup down on the table with shaking hands that caused the tea to dribble over the sides of the mug. He clenched his fists in his lap, staring at them with frustration in his eyes as he still couldn't bring himself to breathe.

"Sherlock? Look at me." He says, using his commander voice. "I want you to breathe in for five seconds, hold it for seven, and exhale for five. Do that a few times." He say softly. "John is fine. If he wasn't I would have been notified. When he came here he was mad and worried about you. He new you weren't dead. He knew it in his bones. He went to go look for you. Said he had a lead."

Sherlock closed his eyes and, for the first time in over 2 years, followed orders, breathing in and managing to hold it for just a second before coughing through the tightness and trying again. A minute or two passed in relative silence as Sherlock regained control of his faculties. "How do I find him?"

"Here." He hands him the card for the ship yard that took John. "Go back in their logs and find the departure for the day three months after you died. It would have been the only one. You'll find the coordinates in the log."

"Thank you, for this and for helping John. As much as it terrifies me for him to be gone, I worry that if he'd truly thought I was dead, or had just stayed at Baker Street to stagnate, he'd have gone mad, so I suppose his leaving will have been good for him. I'll be sure to inform you when he is home." Sherlock smiled a rare gracious smile at the lieutenant before rising and holding out a hand. "Thank you, lieutenant. I'll be off now to Wales."

"Good luck." He nods and shakes Sherlock's hand. "And be gentle with John. He mostly just shows anger when he's upset but he's also worried about you."

"Obliged, lieutenant." And with that Sherlock leaves the house, the lieutenant following him out. Sherlock gives a small wave and a tight smile from the car as it pulls away from the kerb. Immediately he calls Mycroft. "I need you to go through the shipping logs for NS United Shipping for the day John disappeared and see where the ship that departed that day went. John was on that ship. Also check CCTV at the departing and arriving shipyards, see what you can see. I'm on my way to Heathrow to fly to Wales."

"I'll look into it." Mycroft nods. "Is he alive?"

"I have every reason to believe so, but if he is surviving is a question I've yet to find the answer to. To find said answer, I first must find him." Sherlock said. "Also, find any assiciates of John and the lieutenant living in Wales. I'll be seeing you shortly I assume?"

"Yes. I'll have everything ready when you arrive." Mycroft hums, making a list of johns associates.

Sherlock arrived at the tarmac of Heathrow to find Mycroft already awaiting him at the bottom of the steps leading up to a small plane. The two offered one another similar tight smiles as Sherlock moved forward to relieve Mycroft of the papers he needed. "This is everything?" He asked as he rifled through the file.

"Everything I could find." Mycroft nods. "Will you be alright?"

"Fine as long as John is. I just want to see him again." Sherlock said morosely. "I'll keep in touch as needed, but I've no idea what to expect on this journey. I'll be back as soon as I can, either with John on a plane or with John in a body bag"

"He'll be okay." Mycroft nods.

"Hopefully." And with that tremendous glimmer of hope Sherlock climbed the stairs to the plane and watched as the ground passed by him before it grew farther and farther away and it was only clouds. He dozed a bit, again feeling the after effects of Serbia, but mostly spent his time on the rather short trip analysing the packet of files Mycroft had given him.

A woman stands on the tarmac watching the plane come in. "Sherlock Holmes?" She asks.

"Yes. And you are?" Sherlock replied somewhat imperiously

"Mellisa O'Donald." She holds out her hand to him.

"Are you the associate of John Watson I was meant to be meeting? I thought we were meant to meet at your home." Sherlock responded, taking her hand with a firm shake

"No you're meeting my mom. I'm just here to pick you up." Mellisa nods and leads him to the car.

Mellisa drove somewhat haphazardly through the streets of Cardiff to a beautifully quaint little row home. They exited the car together and hadn't even reached the door when an older woman opened the door and stepped out, a jovial smile on her face and arms outspread.

"Hello, mum." Mellisa smiles and hugs her mother before going in the house. "Hello, Sherlock. I'm Carol. Nice to meet you. Come in. It's freezing." Carol smiles softly and leads him inside.

Sherlock shivers slightly as he steps into the warm house. He scrapes his shoes on the mat and holds out his hand for Carol to shake. "It's a pleasure, Carol. Now, I am reliably informed that you have information in regards to the possible whereabouts of John Watson? You met him on one of his missions here, correct?"

"Yes I know where he went from here. I don't know if he's still there though." Carol nods and shakes his hand. "Mm you are far to skinny. Sit. I'll bring you food." She points to the table for him to sit before she goes to the kitchen. "It's best you just let her feed you. If you don't she gets pouty." Mellisa smiles.

Sherlock offered a vague smile in response. His appetite had been practically non-existent before he'd left and now, after months of malnutrition and food deprivation, he hardly ate at all, he just wasn't hungry. Still he sat down at the low leather sofa near the crackling fire and waited patiently for his plate. When Carol laid the bowl in front of him, filled to the top with steaming cawl, he felt his stomach begin to churn as the rich scent assaulted his nose. At Carol's expectant look he slowly began to eat.

"Mum? Maybe just give him a sandwich. That might be a bit much for him." Mellisa says, seeing Sherlock's reaction. "Mm alright." Carol nods and goes to make him a sandwich.

Sherlock glanced at Mellisa with a gaze that perfectly expressed his gratefulness. When Carol returned with a small sandwich she sat down and waited fir Sherlock to speak. When he finished chewing he turned to her. "Thank you Carol. I won't be around long. Please though, where did John go?"

"Last I knew he went to a hotel in Ireland." Carol writes down the address. "I don't know if he's still there but I haven't heard of him going somewhere else."

"You're assistance is greatly appreciated. How was he, when he was here?" Sherlock asked, chewing worriedly as he waited for her response while munching on his surprisingly good lamb sandwich.

"John was distraught. He missed you terribly and was worried about you constantly. He was here for about a week." Carol nods. "He was upset you didn't tell him the truth. He was worried that you'd need him and he wouldn't be there for you. He didn't understand why you lied to him. He's the only one that believed you were still alive."

Sherlock bowed his head in shame. "It was a necessary evil, the only way to keep him safe, and I must always keep John Watson safe. Speaking of, I'm afraid I've got to be going, to . . ." He peered down at the scrap of paper with the address on it as he stood "Nuremburg, Germany. Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course. Mellisa will take you to the airport." Carol nods. Mellisa drives Sherlock to the airport and waves to him as he gets on the plane. When the plane finally lands after some rough turbulence everyone is more than happy to get off.

Sherlock is not met at the airport this time, but hails a cab and makes is his way to the hotel where John was last known to be. When he arrived at the less than pleasant little hovel he slowly limped his way inside to enquire about John. He was nearly to the desk when he happened to glance to his right and see an older man walking slowly towards the door, suitcase dragging behind him from his right hand and leather bag hanging from his left. He'd recognize that hair anywhere, despite the gaunt face and far too skinny figure. He stopped and stared a moment and the man was about to pass him by when he happened to glance up and their eyes met. John.

John stops frozen as he looks at Sherlock. He thinks he's hallucinating for a moment but then he hears the receptionists talking to Sherlock and realizes other people can see him as well. "Oh you fucking bastard." John snaps at him, hands clenched so he doesn't shake.

Sherlock stares at John, gaping, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Now that he's face to face with John, an angry John at that, he's at a loss. He's happy to see John, despite his worse for wear appearance, but nervous about his reception, and he certainly has no idea how to proceed. He has no idea how long he stands there gaping, mind abuzz with everything and nothing.

"I knew it. I knew you were alive this whole bloody time!" John shouts. "You just ditched me like always. Two years! Two fucking years! Everyone thought I was insane! You arsehole! Screw you! Screw this!" He snarls and leaves, taking his bags with him.

Sherlock stands gaping for just a moment longer before the panic over takes him and he limps after John as quickly as he can, coatless in the cold night air and chilled breeze. He follows as closely as he can but even with his longer legs he's beyond exhausted and soon loses John to the crowd.

Mycroft frowns as he watches the CCTV footage, calling Sherlock.

Sherlock reaches for his mobile with numb fingers that won't cooperate, he can't even hit the answer button with the clumsy stubs. His vision begins to blur and he stumbles once. twice. three times before collapsing to the unforgiving concrete beneath him.

People around call for an ambulance and Sherlock is taken to the hospital. John later hears from one of the people from the hotel about a man collapsing. He makes his way to the hospital, going to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock is exhausted and weak. He hadn't realized how much of an effect his injuries would have on his physicality. Now that he is sitting still with nothing to do he feels the pain shooting through his entire body. Even the hospital gown had burned against the bandages criss crossing his chest so he'd tossed into the corner. He groans with the pain and the agony of losing John again, for good this time. He clenches his eyes shut and lets a tear fall.

John comes in quietly, not wanting to wake sherlock if he's sleeping. "I may be an idiot but that doesn't make me any less mad." He says softly as he picks up Sherlock's chart, looking at the pages.

Sherlock senses more so than hears the figure enter the room. He's so tired and frustrated. He just wants to be left alone! "I had quite enough torture in Serbia, thanks, so if you could just leave me be!" He growled.

"If you really wanted to be left alone you wouldn't have come looking for me in the first place." John sighs and sits. "Lay back or else you'll rip your stitches."

Sherlock's eyes shoot open in surprise at the sound of John's voice, but at the same time he flinches and scoots away quickly from the warm presence of John sitting on the edge of the bed. The movement only causes him to accidentally bend his back too far and he hisses in pain. He stares at John from his curled position near the head of the bed with a look of disbelief, panic, and sadness all at the same time. Then he bows his head, preferring to look at his knees rather than at John, expecting a goodbye he'd rather not experience face to face. "John." He croaks from deep in his throat as he fights tears.

"Easy." John says softly and rests his hand on Sherlock's head. "You really had a number done on you. I thought this is why we decided that you're the genius and I'm the one that carries the gun so I can shoot whoever gets pissed off by your genius, mm?" He says softly, gently rubbing his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Begrudgingly Sherlock allows the tears to fall but keeps his head bowed still. "I had to John! I had to! If I didn't leave then you were going to die! Moriarty was going to have you shot and the only way I could stop it was by faking my death and destroying Moriarty's network! I couldn't . . ." Sherlock hiccoughs as the tears flow freely, he's close to shouting and he's looking at John imploring him to see. "I couldn't just let you die, John." Sherlock is breathing heavily and curled up even tighter on himself, hugging his knees as best he can despite the agony it wrings through his torso.

"I know." John hugs Sherlock gently, being careful of his broken body. "We're both idiots. You should have let me come with you and I should have understood better."

Sherlock immediately curls into the touch, pushing his face into the crease where John's neck meets his shoulder and folding his arms beneath his torso, cuddling into John's warm, comfortable body and allowing it to surround him. "I'm so sorry John. So, so sorry. I missed you so much, I just wanted to come home! You're the only thing that got me through the past two years or I think I'd have given up hope, I had to get home to you." Sherlock speaks through his sobs, wetting John's shirt woth tears and snot.

John lays back and holds Sherlock so Sherlock can be more comfortable. "I missed you, too. Don't you dare ever do that to me again. Us against the world, yeah?" He gently runs his fingers through Sherlock's hair, just wanting Sherlock close.

Sherlock shuffles even closer, despite already being almost on top of John, and nuzzles his head and sniffles. Slowly his breathing begins to slow and his fidgeting lessens, until John looks down to see him fast asleep on his chest.

After Sherlock is in the hospital for a week they go back to Baker Street, together.

Because it always the two of them. Always together. Until the end of their days.


End file.
